Extreme Sports In Vodka
by CheshireCity
Summary: Ivan accidentally tests the limits of the human body by using vodka as 'chaser' for his family get-together.


Originally done as a crack fill for someone based off of an article on Cracked. It can be found on Part 13, Page 47. Enjoy~

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**Extreme Sports in Vodka**

It had been a particularly bleary day. The clouds had knit together like a herd of grey sheep, casting the landscape in shadow. Ivan hated days like these. Winter always seemed to hold some bit of spite for him. The slight wind was biting in the frigid air, and he was certain it was raining off and on. Either that, or he was much more tired and bleary-eyed than he had thought. He shuffled into the kitchen, shrugging his robe around himself even closer. Rifling through the pantry, he went about his routine of setting up his morning coffee. Sure, it was almost one in the afternoon, but what did that matter?

Soon the apartment was thick with the scent of coffee bean, but something was still lacking. He looked about, mug in hand. The sky beyond the window frowned. It obviously didn't know what he was casting about for, either. Eventually, he sat by the hearth, stirring the embers into wakefulness. It was an older apartment building, five stories tall and heavily embellished with brick. He sighed under a knitted blanket, toying with the thick yarn animals that edged the centerpiece. Like most everything inside the little home, his sister had taken the time to make it by hand. Yekaterina's touch was everywhere - from the tea kettle cover, to the linens, to the pillows upon the couch.

It was still odd to the Russian that she should find herself in such an abode. While he lived in a full out manor with servants (so perhaps they _were_ countries, but that didn't mean much, did it?) his elder sister found herself holed up in a building full of humans. She was always going on these days about "connecting to the people", so she never lived in one place for more than five to ten years at a time. Ivan simply couldn't wrap his mind around it. He liked things to be traditional: familiar and comfortable. Nice things, like playing with matryoshka dolls as a child, and reveling in a large harvest of apples in the late autumn, and snuggling up by the fire while remembering old faerie tales like _The White Duck_ and _The Twelve Seasons_ while sipping from a bottle of… ah! That was it! VODKA.

With a rogue grin, he roused himself from his seat and set about the cabinets, searching until he found… And at that moment, his eyes lit up and he felt the warmest, most endearing sense of gratitude towards his elder sister, wherever she and her boingingness might be. The bottles gleamed down at him with holy might, and he hastily snatched the first three. As a traditional Russian, he usually used a bottle of vodka as chaser, followed by vodka, vodka, and maybe a shot of vodka. Sort of like that whole liquor before beer rule. Vodka before vodka… oh fuck it. With almost childish glee, he re-entered the living room, passing by the open day calendar on the table. He had almost forgotten that the 'family get-together' would be later that day. He could hardly imagine BOTH of his sisters, the Baltics, and himself all crammed together in the little apartment. Considering the mixed company he'd be sharing, he considered that now was as good of time as any to pick up the hobby of alcoholism.

The first to go was the Stoli. He poured it in measured amounts into his glass, watching the clear liquid swirl around almost to the rim. It was a good vodka for getting plastered, he thought with a benign smile. Potent and charcoal-y tasting. Perfect for occasions like these. Because no family gathering was quite perfect until you couldn't remember it later. With a shudder, he thanked his blessings that he didn't have more obnoxious sorts to deal with - nosy aunts, for one. Yekaterina had told him about human family dynamics, and they didn't sound wholly pleasant. Natalia was enough some days. Distantly, he entertained the thought of going through with her marriage proposal, highly endorsed by Stolichnaya. That sure would be a first dance to remember. Well, for iothers/i to remember, that is. He chuckled, imagining he would probably be curled up on the floor giggling as an after affect. Bonus points being that Belarus would be ten times less scary that way. Or, he second guessed with a frown, ten times _scarier_. It was quite a conundrum.

But then the vodka was gone, and, surprised, he reached to open the next bottle. How much time had passed? It hadn't seemed so long. This time he selected a Pshenichnaya, revered favorite of his people. After a moments (or several moments, he couldn't be sure) deliberation, he peeked over at the large wall clock. Funny, he didn't remember threes pointing that direction. With a sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair, deciding that it was high time he dress for the day. If his math was right - and he was fairly certain it was, wonky threes or no - then the guests would be arriving within another two hours. Making his way to the guest bedroom, he palmed his precious vodka, upending his trunk lazily with a slippered foot. The garments spilled across the floor with a soft swishing noise, and the sound pleased Ivan's buzzing mind.

"Oops." he smiled vacantly, looking at the mess. It wasn't quite registering that _he_ had just caused it. "You ran away." he chided a sock, plucking it from the carpet and tossing it back into the case. "Silly sock…" His words weren't exactly slurring. That was something Ivan prided himself in. He usually kept his dignity in the claws of drunkenness. Usually. He pawed through the thick fabrics, finally settling on a blue cabled sweater and the previous nights' pants. Someone would have to clean up that mess, he thought with a frown. Why did sweaters have so many _holes_ in them? It was so confusing. Then again, he added, taking an unceremonious swig from his glass, Lithuania would be coming over. And there was nothing Toris seemed to enjoy more than cleaning. "Especially in maid outfits, да?" he said aloud to no one. As an afterthought, he grabbed his now-iconic coat and threw it on. He may be a visitor in Ukraine, but Russian morals were still deeply embedded in his soul. Dressing formally for all occasions was one of them.

Pleased with his image, he sauntered back into the remainder of the home, just as the front door clicked open. A young woman blundered in, arms full of groceries that were quickly deposited on the hall counter. "Ah, брат!" she beamed. Her light hair was falling out of its side-swept braid in wisps, framing her flushed cheeks. Ivan smiled.

"Привет, сестра." He called softly, filling the doorframe with his massive height. "Need help?" he asked courteously, inwardly wishing nothing to do with the carrots and potatoes unless he could eat them or they magically materialized themselves into borscht. Yekaterina paused, catching his gaze.

"You've been drinking." she said decisively, pushing the wood block of knifes away unnecessarily. "Go, now, брат. Sit in the front room and let it wear off a bit. Have some water." Her lips were pursed together much like an exasperated mother's. Her brother shrugged absently, re-inhabiting the armchair as the elder blonde swept around him, collecting the bottles. All save for one, which was half obscured by the swag of Ivan's coat. He pouted in intoxicated silence for a while as she set about in the kitchen.

He wondered what the Baltics would scrounge together to present as a gift to his sister. It was a Russian custom, but one they readily prescribed to in his presence. It would be all too rude to attend a gathering without giving the host something nice. A smile tugged at his lips. He had taught them well, they always brought nice things, even if they were puzzling sometimes. Knowing Toris, he had probably knit Ukraine something on behalf of he and his brothers. Toris was good at knitting, he reflected, fingering his particular sweater. His thoughts tumbled a bit, dredging up a curling fear as he pondered what his little sister would bring. Knives? Probably knives. Or a dead rabbit. Or… or something violent. Like a wedding ring. That was especially violent. He reminded himself to request new locks from his future guests as gifts. The sturdier the better. Then a dead weight dropped in his stomach as he considered himself. Should he give his sister something? He was staying with her, and it was of course in his custom to give her something nice for her hospitality, but it was just so _confusing_ at the moment. Did it only count if you crossed the threshold? Maybe it counted double? He pouted, rising suddenly to try to find something suitable to present her with. That's when his heel connected with the hidden vodka bottle - trusty old Russky Standart - and all of his worries danced away in a field of sunflowers and spigots. (Working spigots, that was - he couldn't fathom why the water hadn't worked since he had owned the thing.)

He was no longer quite sure what time it was, or why exactly he was submerged. Things were swimming, so naturally he must be underwater. Or in one of those cutesy little snow globe things that China had showed him. That must be it. The lights seemed cruelly bright for some reason, but he was feeling a bit too giddy to much mind it. He hugged a pillow to his chest, filled with the sudden compulsion to do something bold and _manly_. With an anxious hum, he shuffled forward into the coffee table, gasping suddenly. Yekaterina's face emerged from the kitchen immediately, and it didn't take her long to put two and two together.

"Ivan!" she began, eyebrows knitting into a frown. "I thought I said to- " But the doorbell was ringing, and she gave him a stern look before turning to answer it. In the distance there was the happy bauble of voices, but Ivan was a bit too preoccupied with his new discovery. He could no longer feel _pain_. In a fit of joy, he banged his leg against the glass top again, to be sure, and once more there was _nothing_ but the pleasant buzzing in his head. There was voices again, and they were closer. He got the distant feeling that one was addressing him, but he was too transfixed with his surroundings. He fiddled with the old fashioned letter opener that sat atop a stack of letters. His fingertips danced across the blades edge, pressing and sliding until tiny beads of crimson bubbled up. There was a louder whine from somewhere around him, but it sounded like it was from the next apartment over, and fuzzy at that. He stared at the little drops of blood. Still, there was _no_ pain. A half crazed beam broke out on his face. "I'm _awesome_." he whispered loudly.

Toris' bright green eyes suddenly filled his vision. He was talking. Ivan could tell, because his lips were moving. He laughed suddenly. "Is this what Gilbert feels like?" he pondered aloud. The Lithuanian froze, brows drawing down in concern. But Ivan had moved onto his next target. The clouds outside looked so soft and grey, like great, big, downy geese. Geese were mean, but they made lovely pillows. Ivan _liked_ pillows. With a carefree laugh, he hefted the window open, peering out at the mattress of sky. It felt sort of weird out. It wasn't as warm and fuzzy and happy as he felt. Suddenly, he felt a bit bad for the outside.

There was a murmur of sound behind him, but he cut it off. "I can so jump this!" he beamed, imagining himself landing in a nice blanket of goose feathers. It would be so nice! There was a ripple of movement, and then he was free falling.

* * *

"OH MY GOD!"

"SHI-SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!"

"I'm _flyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiinnng!_"

"Why the hell did he-?"

"Aren't we on the fifth story?"

Everyone turned, mortified, to the ever-practical Estonian.

"Yes, Eduard, we _are_." his older brother nodded anxiously. Outside there was a soft _whump_ of something rather large connecting with the earth. There was a collective wince.

"I'm not looking." Yekaterina shakily announced. The color had drained from her face.

"What aren't you looking at?" a soft voice asked. Four pairs of eyes snapped to the front door as Belarus entered, depositing her gift (Ivan would have been pleased to see it was MORE vodka, rather than knives) on the entryway table and respectfully sliding off her boots.

"Uhm… well…" Toris fumbled, not sure how best to put it.

"Did Mr. Ivan just kill himself?" Raivis asked innocently. There was a mixed reaction of awkward laughter and derisive gasps.

"What did he _do_?" the youngest sister asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He sort of- " the Ukrainian began.

"He just jumped out that _window_." Toris supplied, eyes still a bit wide from the whole ordeal. Everyone's gaze roamed back over to the open window.

"Someone's going to have to go over there eventually to close it." Eduard mused, adjusting his glasses.

"I'm not looking." Yekaterina shuddered, clutching her sister's arm.

"I'll look." the youngest piped up, morbidly excited.

"You're not looking either, Raivis." the eldest brother sighed. "I don't want you to see… _that_." Toris supplied shakily. "I… I do my fair share, but I'm not cleaning that up."

The Latvian shrunk back with a pout, quietly edging towards the cabinets. Eduard paused, looking over the mixed company before sighing and approaching the window. There was a ripple of sympathy as he peered over the ledge. "You won't believe this." he blinked, turning back to the group. He shook his head, cleaning off his lenses with the corner of his shirt.

"I'm calling an ambulance…" Toris muttered weakly, fumbling for the phone.

"He's not even _there_, Toris." the Estonian frowned. "Just… _gone_."

"What did he land on?" Natalia spoke up, an unreadable expression on her face.

"What did who land on?" a pleasant voice asked. There was a scrambling panic as everyone jumped back, staring in disbelief at the front door.

"I-Ivan?" Yekaterina whimpered.

"даaaaaaa?" he grinned dazedly, ruffling his own hair.

There was a collective stare.

"Are you… _okay_?" Eduard asked despite himself.

"Okay?" he echoed, cocking his head to the side. Their concerned faces looked so much _funnier_ for some reason. "But Russia is always okay, да? That is just silly, .i.a~"

Toris gawked at him, hand paused over the receiver. "I-Ivan… please sir, what the ihell/i is going on here? Really, it's so indecent for you to just… jump out a _window_. Are you drunk? …Again?" he added, as an afterthought. "This ambulance is still coming, you know." he frowned, a little firm.

"I don't need an am… amlance." the Russian pouted.

"Amlance… right." the Lithuanian sighed, muttering something along the lines of 'child' and 'always taking care of-' under his breath. "Just sit down and try not to break anything, okay, sir?"

" нет, нет, that is no good." Ivan frowned, tumbling a little unstably into the living room.

"Ivan, _sir_ do you even realize how comically impaired your sense of judgment is right now?" the brunette scolded, slamming down the receiver. The Russian stared at him in genuine shock. "ANY idea? Do you know how worried we all were? Now sit _down_, shut _UP_, and wait for the ambulance."

"Really, брат, it's for your own good." the Ukrainian added tearfully. The others chipped in sounds of agreement with the sound of someone padding down the hall as background.

"I am Russian." Ivan stated obviously. Everyone cocked a brow as if to question the statement. "That is just silly. I don't need any ambu- amber… lamps or anything."

From across the coffee table, Toris was putting up an impressive display of both twitching in anger and holding up a submissive form of respect. Ivan giggled to himself wondering if the two conflicting emotions would bubble up and make him explode. He wondered what Lithuania would explode _into_. Maybe it was maid outfits. Or ribbons of red, yellow, and green. Or maybe, just maybe, he would explode into little Baltics, or maybe instead, a giant Poland would appear and claim all the mini-Lithuanias. He frowned. That would be sad. And when Ivan was sad, he did things that made him joyful. Like partitioning Poland. He smiled.

"I think his face just did the emotional rainbow." Eduard commented dryly.

Ivan looked outside expectantly. "Rainbow?" He cocked his head to the side, advancing to the still-open pane. "Where?"

"Oh look, _now_ you've done it." his little sister huffed. "Иван, get back here or I'll marry you." The Lithuanian gave her a sympathetic smile as she pouted at her own words.

" неееееееееееет сестра!" The blonde cried, pressing against the sill.

"Sir, please, are you _trying_ to kill yourself? Because that's all you'll accomplish." the Lithuanian said, uncharacteristically terse. "Now get away from there and sit patiently. _Please_." he added, a little begrudgingly.

" нет." the man huffed, strangely clear for one so drunk. His gloomy face broke out into an oddly placid smile. "Now where was the rainbow?"

"Err… "

"Outside, sir." Toris snapped, loosing the last remnants of his patience.

"Oh…" Then there was the frantic rustle of fabric as Ivan heaved himself back up over the ledge and hurtled from view.

"Well God damni-"

_Whump_.

The occupants of the room took turns looking at each other in a mixture of exasperation and worry. Finally, the Estonian broke away from the pack, peering over the ledge with a sniff. "Amazing. This is either madness, or brilliance. It seems Mr. Ivan has reached such a godly level of drunkenness that it's numbed his nervous system. He didn't even _flinch_. That alone kept him from…" he trailed off awkwardly, allowing the others to fill in with their own grotesque analogies.

Bubbling with curiosity, the other three crowded around him, watching as a miniature Ivan got up blearily. He dusted himself off and stared at the sky in confusion until a tiny ambulance drove up. The paramedic rushed out and stared at him in disbelief as he gave them a sloppy wave. There was some brief exchange, in which the blonde medic seemed _rather_ animated, promptly punching the Russian hard in the gut (which had no effect; Ivan just watched in confusion) before turning on heel and stalking back to his van, shaking his hand painfully.

"Well seems that Feliks saved me the need of telling _this_ story." Toris muttered as he watched his friend drive off. "Least he vented my feelings for me."

"Least Ivan's alright." Yekaterina sighed, beside herself. Natalia gave a noncommittal grunt.

"…Is it bad I want to give him a parachute next?"

"Eh? Raivis!" Lithuania admonished, eyes growing wide as he realized what his little brother was trying to covertly slide into the wastebasket. "Really? _Four_?" The young teen gave a slight shrug as he let the bottles clank to the bottom of the basket, cheeks rosy as he hiccupped.

The next several hours would be awkward at best, both Ivan and Raivis being put in a time-out of sorts as dinner was served, windows securely bolted down to the sills. They talked cheerfully together - an oddity - and soon were both passed out asleep on the furniture, flushed and dead to the world. One by one, the guests turned in, succumbing to sleep. Toris watched the dysfunctional family from his perch on the couch. As he pulled the blankets up around himself, he thought with the most ironic might, that after all this, he could really go for a drink.

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_No offense meant to Russians anywhere - it's called crackfiction for a reason, mn? ^_~ And to non-Russian speakers and those too lazy to use a translator: Ukraine calls Ivan 'brother; brat', to which Ivan replies, 'Hello sister; Privet sesta'. Иван = Ivan, and нет = nyet, or, 'no'. Poland the Paramedic! Hurrhurr. And he punched Ivan in the tummy because he couldn't reach his face. X3 Hope everyone enjoyed!_


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